


i just want your empathy

by pinkwinwin



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 190614 Yuta, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Clubbing, Hook-Up, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Seo Youngho | Johnny, Minor Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Taeyong, Minor Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Kim Jungwoo, Recreational Drug Use, Rock Stars, Secret Relationship, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 13:49:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19230376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwinwin/pseuds/pinkwinwin
Summary: There’s something about this song in particular that brings out an energy in Yuta. It feels powerful, like the lyrics have been injected into his bloodstream and the drum beat is as steady as his own heart. His body sways and moves to the music as he plays, fingers arching forward to reach each carefully-curated chord.Sicheng can’t take his eyes off of it, and if there’s one thing he remembers is the phrasesex, drugs, and rock and roll. He can confirm at least two of those things are here tonight, right here in this moment.





	i just want your empathy

**Author's Note:**

> I banged this out in like 4 hours start to finish so I'm not sure what possessed me (190614 Yuta). Anyways this is very self-indulgent so don't look at me
> 
> #

Clubs are noisy, ugly things.

 

It’s what Sicheng tells himself, anyway. He hates the way his head pounds after thirty minutes in the space, despises how the floor is sticky against his shoes. The drinks are far too overpriced and there’s about a hundred more people crammed into one room than should be approved of by the fire marshall. But most of all, he hates the music.

 

He _hates_ the music played at clubs. It’s always the same shit they play on the radio, full of recycled beats and the same repeated lyrics over and over again. Sicheng hasn’t heard anything new in what feels like ages, just the same thing echoed off the walls of the dorms of his college to drown out more scandalous hook-ups and parties that shouldn’t be happening. He hates it even now, as he’s two drinks in and wedged between his two flirty best friends at the back table of _Club Alcazar._ The bass isn’t deep enough so the music played over the speakers sounds pitchy, some popular song blaring over the speakers— is this The Weeknd? He can’t even tell.

 

“Come _on_ , stop looking so grouchy,” Ten says, elbowing Sicheng in the ribs. His black nails glint dangerously against the glass of his drink as he brings it to his lips, eyeing Sicheng out of the corner of his eye as he drinks. Sicheng sighs and takes him in, noting how even his eyeliner hasn’t smudged one bit despite this club being far too hot for most people to dance in without sweating.

 

“I’m not grouchy,” Sicheng replies, reaching out to tuck a piece of Ten’s dark hair behind his ear. “Just waiting for the band to start.”  
  
  
Ten rolls his eyes. “We all know how much you love what’s playing now,” he says sarcastically. The man on the other side laughs at this, leaning in to catch the end of the conversation.

 

“Sicheng doesn’t know anything popular,” Jungwoo says, his breath smelling like a mix of fruit juice and vodka. Sicheng has to lean back a little to give him space. “He asked me what Arctic Monkeys album was playing in my car last time I gave him a ride.”  
  
  
“That was a compliment, I like Arctic Monkeys,” Sicheng says, wounded. Jungwoo gives him a look of agony, his bright eyes shining in the overexposed pink neon lights.

 

“It was The Neighbourhood.”

 

Ten laughs at this, leaning his head back scrunching his nose. The jewelry adorning his ears shimmers in the low light, infiltrating Sicheng’s sight for a moment. He blinks several times before glancing at the stage, taking note of the band setting up. He spots a familiar face and he nudges Jungwoo, gesturing towards the stage.  
  


“Looks like your boyfriend decided to set up early,” he says, raising his voice over the music. Jungwoo beams at this, staring fondly as Doyoung adjusts the mics and amps littering the stage.  
  


“Yeah,” he says, almost dreamily. “Can’t believe he got out of bed in time to be here.”

  
  
Sicheng groans, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting his eyes slide shut for a moment. “Please keep the details of your sex life to yourself, or at least tell Ten and not me.”  
  


Ten looks over Sicheng’s shoulder at this, giving his friend a wink before flagging down a wandering waiter for another drink. He flashes the man with a sleeve of tattoos a flirty smile, and he returns a few minutes later with Ten’s drink and a round of shots for the table. It’s at times like these that Sicheng is especially grateful for Ten’s flirtiness, especially when the next question leaves his mouth and Sicheng has to slam the tequila shot in front of him.

 

“So, what’s the lineup for tonight? Do they have that cute new bassist?” Ten asks Jungwoo, fishing the maraschino cherry out of his drink and popping it into his mouth, stem and all.

 

“Johnny? Oh yeah, the band _loves_ him,” Jungwoo gushes, gripping the edge of the table and using it as leverage to lean in. “It’s Doyoung, Johnny, Taeyong, Jaehyun, and Yuta.”

 

Ten’s eyes sparkle at this, and he purses his lips and produces the cherry stem, tied in a perfect knot. He holds it up and twists it in the neon lights, admiring his work, before turning back to Jungwoo. “Oh, how _lovely_ , this is the first real show I’ve seen Johnny play.”

 

Jungwoo laughs at this, all light and airy. It certainly contrasts his next statement, which he asks as he rests his arm on Sicheng’s shoulder and leans in even closer. “Are you finally going to bag him tonight?” Sicheng tries to tune the two of them out at this point in the conversation, but their close proximity makes it difficult, so he settles for sighing.

 

“Of course, who do you think I am?” Ten asks, giving Jungwoo a Cheshire grin. They both laugh at this but moments later, as if on cue, they both turn their attention to Sicheng.

 

“And you, Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass,” Ten purrs, leaning in to tug at the neckline of Sicheng’s shirt. “We’ve seen you checking out Yuta for months now, are you going to do something about _that_?”

 

Sicheng pushes them both off, taking Ten’s shot and downing it himself. “I’m not doing anything because there isn’t anything to be done,” he replies dryly. Jungwoo rolls his eyes at this.

 

“We’re your best friends, we know you’ve had eyes for him for ages,” Jungwoo says, dropping his voice low. “Have a little fun for once.”  
  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sicheng replies flatly, but makes a face of calculated disgust when Ten drops the knotted cherry stem into the shot glass in his hand. Ten slips out of his seat and slinks through the crowd to the bar, where he can see him lean in and talk to the bartender. Sicheng can’t hear what he’s staying from this distance, but he does see him flash three fingers with his ring-clad hand, and a minute later he’s making his way back with three dark amber drinks in his hands.

 

Jungwoo reaches out to smooth down the fabric of Sicheng’s shirt that Ten had left askew. He takes the drink that Ten deposits in front of him and takes a sip before speaking again. “Well, you look great tonight. You should consider it.”

 

Sicheng hums but doesn’t further respond, instead accepting the drink that Ten slides into his hand. It’s rum and coke, the sweet taste mingling in the back of his throat and keeping his mind off the conversation. He stares at the stage as the rest of the band filters out onto it slowly. There’s a large man clamping his hand onto Doyoung’s shoulder and leaning into whisper something, and Sicheng can’t help but be amused at how massive Johnny looks compared to the rest of them. He looks more like a drummer than a bassist, his muscle tee exposing muscular arms and a bandana stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans.

 

Taeyong slips behind the two talking members and makes his way to the microphone at the front of the stage. He runs a hand through his blonde hair and uses the other one to adjust the mic, and Sicheng can see even from this distance the way that six separate tables stop their conversation just to take in his beauty. Taeyong must sense this too because he flashes them a shy smile before turning back to say something to Doyoung. The latter nods, walking towards backstage to speak to someone in the wing. Sicheng’s suspicions are confirmed when the next person walks out on stage and— yeah, wow, that’s definitely an outfit.

 

To be clear, the first thing Sicheng notices on Yuta is not his outfit, but his _hair._ Dyed bright red and half pulled-up into a messy ponytail. His bangs and a few unruly locks hang in his face but when he turns his head, Sicheng can see the row of bobby pins adorning the back of his head in a pattern to keep the style in place. He doesn’t think it could get any worse for his heart, but the jeans he’s wearing are clinging to his thighs and his shirt rides up just a little when he reaches up to loop the guitar strap around his body.

 

This is certainly going to be a long performance, so Sicheng downs the rest of his drink in a single gulp.

 

Sicheng doesn’t even notice the rest of the band after that, because Yuta is strumming chords idly, not plugged into the amp at his feet yet but still letting the cord of it swing as he plays. His eyes are transfixed on Yuta as he eventually plugs in his guitar and takes a drink of water from the bottle handed to him by management. He tilts his head back as he drinks and even from the back of the club, Sicheng can see all the earring in Yuta’s ears shine in the light.

 

He swallows thickly, slamming down the empty glass with a little too much force onto the table. Jungwoo jumps at the noise before frowning and turning his attention back to Doyoung, waving at him enthusiastically.

 

“Don’t break the damn thing,” Ten laughs, leaning just out of Sicheng’s line of fire as he tries to shove him out of his chair. He turns his gaze back to the stage, trying to track Yuta’s movements. He’s leaning forward and talking to Jaehyun now, the drummer nodding intensely to whatever is being said and letting his lilac hair fall into his eyes. He pushes it back just as Yuta laughs and walks away, and he raises the drumsticks in the air and snaps them together a few times. It’s a signal for the rest of the band to head to their respective spots, and soon the music is playing.

 

Now _this_ is real music, Sicheng thinks. The bass is so boosted that it shakes the floor, Sicheng can feel it in his boots. Taeyong’s deep voice mingles perfectly with the rest of the band, creating the kind of indie rock that makes you want to get out of your seat and dance to. Several people do, and soon the immediate area in front of the stage is filled with dancing and jumping bodies. Jungwoo and Ten are swaying in their seats, singing along loudly to the music. They’re so distracted that Sicheng takes a moment to look at them fondly, remembering this snapshot of his best friends if even for a moment.

 

The moment doesn’t last long, because the song changes to something heavier, more gritty. The group in front of the stage is a proper most pit now, pushing and jumping to the music, the occasional person reaching out in effort to get the band’s attention. Taeyong is kneeled down, hair in his eyes and singing with as much energy as he can, reaching out to touch hands with the crowd. The whole band is feeding off the energy, with Johnny and Doyoung jumping in place as they play. Jaehyun is nothing but a blur of lilac and black clothing as he furiously keeps beat with the rest of the group, the drum set practically shaking with how hard he’s playing.

 

It’s Yuta that catches Sicheng’s attention the most, though. It’s the way his hair is even messier than before, bangs heavy in his eyes as he plays. He’s leaning back slightly, his black guitar looking dark as ink as he plays. His long fingers are hitting every string, every note perfectly. His lips are parted and his brow is furrowed in concentration, and Sicheng feels like he has to catch his breath. Of course he’s seen them practice it countless times before, fiddling away in Jaehyun’s garage for a better part of a year getting this song nailed down perfectly before ever performing it in front of a crowd.

 

There’s something about this song in particular that brings out an energy in Yuta. It feels powerful, like the lyrics have been injected into his bloodstream and the drum beat is as steady as his own heart. His body sways and moves to the music as he plays, fingers arching forward to reach each carefully-curated chord.

 

Sicheng can’t take his eyes off of it, and if there’s one thing he remembers is the phrase _sex, drugs, and rock and roll_. He can confirm at least two of those things are here tonight, right here in this moment.

 

Nothing feels quite as all-consuming as that song does for Sicheng, so the rest of the set passes in a blur. At this point he wants nothing more than to get out of his seat, which is why he’s eager when the three of them slide out of their chairs and make their way backstage. They weave through countless sweaty bodies coming down from the excitement of a live band, and soon they find themselves nodding at Kun, the manager of the band as he lets them backstage.

 

Jungwoo immediately peels away from them and makes a beeline to Doyoung, throwing his arms around his neck and gripping him tight to his body. Sicheng looks away about the exact time Jungwoo shoves his tongue down Doyoung’s throat, completely ignoring the comfort of everyone else in the room. Sicheng scans the room, taking in the sight of Johnny pushing his hair back and wiping the sweat off his brow. He takes the water bottle that Kun hands him with a smile, twisting off the cap aggressively and downing half the thing in one go. Jaehyun is sitting on the counter on a makeup vanity, having his hair pushed back by Taeyong who is standing between his legs. They’re chatting aimlessly and it would look innocent save for Jaehyun’s hand that’s sliding up Taeyong’s side and rubbing circles into the skin of his hip. They turn their attention to Ten as he sidles up to Johnny, amusement painting their features.

 

This leaves Sicheng alone, standing off to the side of the room where a few instrument cases are stacked haphazardly. He tries to keep his expression neutral in the space, but he’s subtly scanning the room for Yuta. He finds him sitting on the couch on the far wall, fan pointed at him as he tilts his head back with his eyes closed. Sicheng walks over to him and by the time he closes the distance, he catches sight of the sparkling choker laying tight across his neck.  
  
  
_Fuck_ , okay.

 

“Good show tonight,” Sicheng says, sitting on the arm of the couch. He looks down at Yuta who has now cracked one eye open and is taking him in.

 

“Thanks,” Yuta answers with a wide grin. There’s still sweat glistening on his collarbone from where his shirt hangs slightly to the left, and it makes something short circuit in Sicheng’s brain. Their conversation drops off and Sicheng looks around the room for any source of relief. Everyone else in the room is occupied, all couples paired up and Kun speaking to the club manager at the door. There’s another door off to the side, one that leads to a hallway with another VIP room at the end of it and an entrance to the outside. It’s unused at this time of night, Yuta’s band being the only performers they’ve had all week. Sicheng feels around his shirt pocket, producing a crumpled package of cigarettes and a lighter before gesturing towards the door.

 

“I’m going to go smoke if you need anything,” he mumbles, and Yuta hums in response. Sicheng slips out the door and down the hall, already balancing the cigarette on his lips by the time he pushes open the door to the back parking lot. The cool night air snaps him out of his daze only slightly, and he swears under his breath as it takes himself several tries to flick his lighter on. He eventually gets it and lights up, taking a long drag and letting the smoke burn his lungs. He exhales, waiting desperately for the relief to hit him as the smoke filters out of his mouth in tendrils. He takes a few more drags and by this point his hands have stopped shaking and he can look up at the moon without picturing Yuta in that outfit with that _hair—_ and fuck, Sicheng might need another cigarette.

 

He doesn’t get a chance to fish out another one from his pocket because the door creaks open behind him, and Yuta comes slinking out into the parking lot. He stands next to Sicheng, and he looks even prettier in the moonlight. The silver bath of light catches the glitter on his face, and he’s so caught up in the beauty of it all he has to blink twice to gather the fact that Yuta is speaking to him.

 

“Sorry, what was that?” he asks, and Yuta tips his head back in laughter.

 

“I was asking for a drag,” he replies sweetly, waiting with eager fingers for Sicheng to agree. He passes it over and watches Yuta put the cigarette to his lips, taking a drag and letting the smoke filter out after a moment.

 

“Thank you,” he replies quietly, taking another drag and looking up at the sky. “Stars are pretty tonight.”

 

“Yeah,” Sicheng agrees, staring directly at Yuta’s face.

 

Yuta looks at him after a moment, a smile creeping onto his face. He drops the cigarette to the pavement, stepping onto it to put it out before taking Sicheng’s hand. He leads him silently back into the building and towards the first door on the left. The VIP room is luxurious despite the modest club, a blue velvet couch in the center of the room. Sicheng locks the door behind them, and Yuta looks at him with wide eyes.

 

“Do you think anyone saw us slip away?” he asks, and Sicheng laughs.

 

“With our friends as self-centered as they are?” He walks towards Yuta, smiling when he sits down on the couch. “Doubt it.”

 

Yuta nods at this, and in an instant his eyes flash to something darker. He reaches out to pull Sicheng towards him, sliding his hands up the front of his shirt to feel his toned stomach muscles. Sicheng connects their lips in a feverish kiss, kneeling on the couch in the space between Yuta’s legs. He grips Yuta’s hips, holding him down and feeling the way he squirms under his touch. They pull apart just for a moment and Yuta is wearing a look of adoration, half-lidded eyes taking in Sicheng as he slides his hands up his arms and sighs.

 

“Are you going to stare me all night,” Sicheng asks in a low voice, reaching out with his thumb to trace Yuta’s bottom lip, pulling it down slightly. “Or are you going to do something about it?”

 

Yuta makes a noise at this, something between a whine and a sigh, and his eyes slide shut. He reaches up into his hair, tugging at the elastic like he wants to take it down. Something about this lights a fire in Sicheng’s chest and he takes Yuta’s hands, pinning it over his head.

 

“Leave it,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss Yuta again. The velvet of the couch rubs up against their skin as they lay on it, but neither of them seem to mind. At some point Yuta had fumbled with the buttons of Sicheng’s shirt and it lays discarded on the floor, and Sicheng has pushed up Yuta’s tee and has decided to trail kisses down Yuta’s stomach.

 

“Careful,” Yuta whispers, a breathy laugh escaping his lips. His fingers are threaded in Sicheng’s dark hair, his silver rings a sharp contrast as they glint in the low light of the room. Sicheng gaze flickers up to Yuta’s face, staring through dark lashes for only an instant before dragging his lips against the skin just below his navel.

 

“Come home with me,” Sicheng murmurs into Yuta’s skin. Yuta laughs again, tugging slightly at Sicheng’s hair.

 

“That’s not the first time you’ve said that to me,” he replies, trying to mask his panting with an amused tone. Sicheng grips Yuta’s hips and pulls himself up, instead attacking Yuta’s neck with a combination of tender kisses and teeth scraping against his skin.

 

“And it won’t be the last,” he says, nosing into the spot just below Yuta’s ear and exhaling. “Please?” Sicheng doesn’t have to see Yuta’s face to know he’s smiling, he can hear it in his voice. “Of course,” he whispers, angling his head to connect their lips again in an achingly tender kiss. “Always.”

 

♫ ♫ ♫

 

Apartments are quiet, calming things.

 

It’s what Sicheng tells himself, anyway. Or rather, they _should_ be. The apartment that Sicheng finds himself in come morning is definitely familiar, but he wouldn’t call it ‘quiet’ judging the commotion in the kitchen. He yawns and looks to his left, seeing the empty space in bed. He crawls out of bed and tugs a t-shirt on that’s been resting on the back of the doorknob of his bedroom, the worn fabric feeling comforting on his skin.

 

The sounds become more clear as Sicheng makes his way to the kitchen, and then he sees it. Yuta is at the stove cooking what appears to be pancakes judging by the large bottle of syrup on the counter. He’s singing along to something on the radio, his messy ponytail bobbing to the beat as he dances. He’s dressed in basketball shorts and one of Sicheng’s old t-shirts, looking far more relaxed than the night before. He jumps slightly when Sicheng clears his throat, but he shoots him a dazzling smile.

 

“Good morning, handsome,” he purrs, looking over his shoulder at him. Yuta returns to the stove, flipping a pancake and letting the sizzle of it ring out in the room. Sicheng pads over to him and wraps his arms around his waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. 

  
“Morning,” he replies, suppressing another yawn and kissing Yuta’s temple. He eyes the already tall stack of pancakes off to the side with interest, brow arching. “You’ve been busy.”  
  
“I had to entertain myself somehow, with how late you sleep in,” Yuta replies, reaching out to turn the stove off and flipping the last cake onto the stack. He shimmies out of Sicheng’s grasp and grips the plate and syrup bottle, gesturing for Sicheng to grab the French Press filled with coffee. They bring their breakfast to the dining room table, setting it down carefully. Yuta look at it proudly, hands on his hips and sighing fondly.

 

“What would you do without me?” Yuta asks, and Sicheng gives him an amused look.

 

“Probably starve,” he replies honestly, pouring the coffee in the two mugs already perched on the table. He pulls out one of the chairs and sits down, gesturing for Yuta to come over to him. Yuta sits on his lap, threading his fingers through his hair and letting Sicheng grip his bare leg where his shorts ride up.

 

“Last night was fun,” Yuta mutters, playing with Sicheng’s hair. Sicheng nods in agreement before turning his gaze to his phone laying face-down on the table.

 

“It was,” he says, “now let’s see the damage.”

 

It’s pretty bad, Sicheng has to blink several times at how bright the screen is on his phone. He toggles it down just enough to see he has three missed calls, two from Ten and one from Jungwoo. There’s a small army of texts waiting for him, but there’s one from Ten that makes Sicheng laugh when he opens it.

 

**Ten**

_Where are you?? Band manager said he saw you leave with someone but didn’t say who. I need answers!!!_

 

Sicheng angles the phone so Yuta can read, and the two of them erupt into a fit of laughter. Yuta buries his face in Sicheng’s neck, his breath tickling the skin there. When he speaks next, it’s mumbled into Sicheng’s skin.

 

“We should really tell them, it’s been so long.”

 

Sicheng switches the phone off and places it back on the table. He wraps his arm around Yuta’s waist and glances to the front door of his apartment, taking note of the boxes still piled there. In Sharpie, there’s Yuta’s name scrawled on the side with things like _‘kitchen stuff’_ and _‘clothes’._ He thinks for a moment before letting out another laugh.

 

“I think we might be bad people,” Sicheng says, and Yuta pulls his face out of the crook of Sicheng’s neck to look at him with amusement.

 

“Why? Because we’ve been dating for almost a year and your secret boyfriend just moved in two days ago?” he asks, leaning forward to bump their noses together. “Now why would that make us bad? You told Ten and Jungwoo your place was being….”

 

“Fumigated,” Sicheng finishes Yuta’s sentence. “I told them I had termites.”

 

Yuta gives him an amused look, barely containing his laughter. “Your— no, _our_ apartment complex is made entirely of brick.” They look at each other for a moment before bursting into another round of laughter, holding each other as they’re perched precariously on the dining room chair.

 

They spend most of the morning like this, laughing and eating the breakfast Yuta had prepared for them. Sicheng makes a mental note to tell their friends eventually, but when he sees the way Yuta sits with his legs pulled up to his chest and gripping the cup of coffee with two hands, he decides he wants to save this memory for himself, just for one more day. Their life may be filled with late-night music venues and secret gazes across a loud club, but it’s also quiet mornings and one tiny apartment on the Eastside.  
  
  
Sicheng leans in for another kiss, achingly tender and tasting of store-bought syrup, and he knows he wouldn’t want it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to my other half Ayesha for beta'ing this, giving me the lovely title, and for dealing with me dumping this mess of a fic on her with almost no warning. You always support my chaos 💞
> 
> Also I'm not sure how clear it was so:  
> Taeyong — lead vocals  
> Yuta — lead guitar, backup vocals  
> Johnny — bass guitar  
> Jaehyun — drummer  
> Doyoung— keyboard, backup vocals
> 
> I'm going to go scream directly at the ground now. Comments and kudos are very appreciated 💞  
> [Fic Twitter](https://twitter.com/pinkwinwin)  
> [Main Twitter](https://twitter.com/truantseeker)  
> [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/pinkwinwin)


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